Duet
by OFIS
Summary: His song is ending. Their song has just begun. EoT spoilers
1. Interlude

"No."

A tiny plea.

"Not again. Not _ever_ again."

Anger dyes his words now. The Master would laugh if he had have had more strength. As it is, he meets the Doctor's eyes with a smile.

A twisted, cynical, tight-in-the-teeth smile.

"I-" He begins, but his skeleton flashes through his flesh with a vengeance, and it takes a few seconds so that he can breathe properly. His respiratory bypass has shut down already, and he is left to the irregular flutter of one heart. "I'm _dying_," He says, incredulously.

There are no Timelords to resurrect him. Gallifrey is gone. His head is silent; a yawing silence has replaced the drums.

One-two-three-four.

The Doctor's eyes turn agonizingly cold at the sound. The Master inhales deeply, and feels emotion lap at his chest. Icy fear.

"Doctor?"

The Master relaxes immediately at the human's voice, but the Doctor tenses, staring him in the eye with an expression filled with agony. _He will knock four times._ This time, the Master manages a small burst of laughter, weaker, because it doesn't have the support it used to.

Agonizing silence.

"Doctor, can you get me out of here?"

Wilfred's voice is pleasant; he has no idea. The Master smiles, because the Doctor knows. It haunts his face, and he knows. The noble fool. The Master sees him counting the years in his head, coming to the logical conclusion, and then rejecting it with horror, even as he clung to it tightly. The rage begins to seep into his agony.

"It's only a body." He whispers, and the Doctor's mourning spirit flickers back into his empty eyes. He swallows.

"I don't want to die." The Doctor says in a broken voice. The Master smiles tiredly, and closes his eyes from the effort. He can't repress the shudder; he understands.

"The Dark." The Master murmurs, and all of a sudden he's eight years old again and seeing what the drums bring. His physical body is becoming a tangle of unresponsive synapses, but somehow, the distant pressure of the Doctor's hand in his sinks in. He smiles again, falsely, so bright it hurts. "I'm _starving_." The Master announces, realizing suddenly that he's empty and light and-

And it hurts.

"Doctor?" Wilfred presses, and it seems to have finally sunk in his brain that something is wrong, because terror has crept into his tone. "What's wrong?" The Master gains the sudden strength for another exhausted laugh. The Doctor's teeth clench together and he sucks in a harsh breath.

"You're going to die too." The Master tells Wilfred. There's a shocked silence in response, except for the Doctor's ragged breathing. The Timelord is shaking with rage at the universe, and perversely, deep in his dimming soul, the Master forgives him.

"What?" Wilfred asks first, lost. "What's he saying?" He demands, accusingly staring at the Master.

"The nuclear warhead." The Doctor explains, voice solid, even though the terror rolling off of him is so thick that the Master can smell it. "It-" His resolution wears off, and his voice begins to shake. "It's going to flood that chamber with radiation to keep it from harming anything." He stops, but the Master squeezes his hand back suddenly.

"What does that mean?" Wilfred says, not sure if he should be alarmed. The Master swallows before speaking.

"Doctor I'm _starving_." He says, brightly. The Doctor looks at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, I can't-" He breaks off, and they share a smile. A smile born of everything that used to be. Perfect understanding. "Oh, _yes_," The Doctor says, even as the Master feels his eyesight blur.

"Quickly, quickly." He urges, and loses his sense of balance as the Doctor half-drags him to the chamber. They pause as the Doctor fumbles for his screwdriver and the Master reels backwards almost drunkenly.

"Wilf, when I open this door," The Doctor begins, and the Master tries to steady himself unsuccessfully by clutching to the Doctor's shoulder, "get out, quickly."

"But, what are you-"

"Quickly!"

At this point the Master cannot see, but he can sense that they've entered a smaller space. The glass is warm against his back, and the Doctor's breathing quick in his failing hearing. It galls him that they so close together he can smell everything.

The fear, the tears, the sweat, the smell of the Doctor's blood, and the stench of his own skin, everything he's consumed for this dying body, until it is too much, much too much.

The Master screams and writhes, but the Doctor holds him tightly and presses the large red button.

**0o0o0o**

Oh _yes_. It had to be done.


	2. Realization

Erm, so I realized that I was a bit vague on pretty much everything plot-wise. Sorry. I was trying to focus on the emotion bit, because EoT was so full of it and I wanted to keep that. Hopefully this chapter clears that up some, and if you're still confused I'm sorry, I'll try to fix it.

Enjoy!

0o0o0o0

Pain.

Unimaginable, burning pain.

At some point the Master sinks into unconscious bliss, but the visit with it is brief. The intense radiation, which had before been pulsing into his broken body, is free from the air. His resurrection has greedily disposed of the energy, and for the moment he will live. He isn't fixed, not by a long shot, but until another means of preservation can be cajoled from the universe, the Master will do anything to keep himself alive.

Anything.

"We're alive." The Doctor says, amazed. His childish wonder only serves as an irritation. The Master tries to untangle their bodies, and only succeeds in scrabbling ineffectually at Vinvocci glass and twisting a leg in a most uncomfortable position.

"Ah, isn't this just _perfect_." The Master hisses. "All that energy and I'm still as weak as a kitten." The Doctor grins and jumps to his feet with disgusting ease, offering a hand. The Master bats it away and growls, "And still so _hungry_."

"What, aren't you full?" the Doctor teases, "Ate up all that radiation, I barely had any." Then his tone turns serious. "Good thing you did, though I can't imagine it felt very nice, absorbing that."

"As radiation goes, it's not very pleasant." the Master agrees, "Nor very filling." The last words are accompanied by a predatory smile, but the Doctor is not threatened, and it devolves into a lick of the lips.

"What's that?" Wilfred exclaims, and the Master gives a low burst of laughter, tracing his teeth with his tongue. "What did he do?" He asks the Doctor, bewildered and, the Master thinks, very stupid. The Doctor really did have bad taste. "He really is a monster, just look at 'em!"

"Oh, stop it." The Doctor chides, even as he looks at the Master disapprovingly.

"Not very nice words to your poor savior, are they?" The Master says, clumsily drawing himself into a crouch by the Doctor's knees and assuming a hurt expression.

"I wouldn't call you that, not after what you did to all those people!" Wilfred argues, gesturing with a withered hand. The Master looks at him in disgust, and then, slowly, smiles.

"You think I'm a monster, old man?" He asks, and springs to his feet. He pushes open the glass door ostentatiously, and it responds easily to his command. Within seconds he is only a few feet from the human, head cocked at an angle. Wilfred backs away, none too subtly.

"Well I'll tell you something you don't seem to understand," The Master says forcefully and points without looking at the Doctor, "You think I'm a monster? That man, who all you humans seem to _love_ is the murderer of his own people." He casts a quick glance towards the Doctor, who has frozen just outside the glass, a broken expression locked in place.

"Maybe so, sir, maybe so," Wilfred replies, and then gathers his courage as the Master watches. "But they did terrible things, didn't they? Just look at you, eh?"

"Just look at me?" The Master answers, voice dangerously soft. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT YOU DAMN FOOL!" He lunges at Wilfred, blood pounding through his temples, demanding retribution. But his arms are caught from behind, and the Doctor restrains him. The Master lets the energy loose in his hands, planning to get at the human even if it kills him, but at that moment, something snaps.

He collapses, half-unconscious and still raging feebly. He loses the battle with darkness quickly, smothered in waves of pity and relief from the Doctor.

0o0o0o0

This time the smooth consolation of unconsciousness is much longer. But the quiet recesses of his mind are too tranquil, and it is this wrong that makes the Master stir back into uneasy consciousness. Before he even opens his eyes he knows he's in the Doctor's TARDIS, hanging about the vortex. He can also tell by the pitch of the TARDIS's background hum that while it doesn't have the tight efficiency of the newer models, it is oddly comforting. The Master opens his eyes and swings his legs into a sitting position.

"Hello." The Doctor greets softly. They lock eyes and the Master grimaces, holding a hand gently on his own skull.

"They're gone." He answers, and the melancholia slips in of its own accord. The Doctor waits for him to finish. "The noise in my head, the drums. Gone."

"Gone with them." The Doctor agrees, and the Master looks up sharply from where his eyes had fallen to the floor. There's something tight in the tone of the Doctor's words and posture that positively _screams_. Physically, perhaps, he is together, but his _mind_. His mind _burns_.

"They used us." The Master voices, and his concentration on the Doctor dims when he realizes the thing that makes his chest so heavy and hard to breathe is death. Everything is dying. His musings are interrupted by a shuddering inhale from the Doctor, whose eyes are red-rimmed and weary.

"Yeah. They did."

The hunger is tearing at him again, and a part of him is regarding the Doctor with purely carnal needs. He grits his teeth, and then laughs bitterly soft.

"I don't want to die either." The Master says, and for all the control he has ever worked for, these words are bare. Like facing those giant berobed elders and trying to explain the message booming behind his skull.

"You won't." The Doctor answers, savagely. There is memory behind those words, thick layers of it, that separate the Time Lord in front of him from the arrogant little student who had humiliatingly received a lower science degree than his own. It doesn't matter. The Master smiles.

"You may be a doctor, but you can't fix me." The Master chides gently.

"Then I'll find someone who can."

There is the fury again, and it almost hurts, the familiar reversal of emotion. When one is furious, the other is calm, except for those brief moments of understanding. The Enmity of Ages. What a weak title for reality.

"A doctor who can't save his patient and a master of nothing." The Master notes, half to get the idea off his chest, and half to see the _look_ in the Doctor's eyes. To his surprise, the Doctor laughs bitterly of his own accord, and the Master smiles.

"Yeah, we make a good pair between the two of us."

"Not for long." The Master adds, still struck by the shock. The ideas that used to teem in his brain, lashed into a frenzy by the drums, are gone. They have sunk somewhere beyond his energy to reach, leaving him to silence. The only thing he can think is that he will die. Again.

"Don't say that." The Doctor orders, and the Master is silent. "I don't care if we have to travel to every corner of the universe." The Master jumps down from his bed to the floor, ignoring the weak feeling in his knees. He walks to where the Doctor stands, and furrows his brow.

"Not exactly the journey across the stars you promised." He says lowly.

"We'll make do."

0o0o0o0

He may be my favorite villain, but the Master is infuriatingly hard to write. Especially depressed!Master. I'll stop blabbing all over the story, excuse me. Reviews make me update faster.


	3. Mind Tricks

Thank you for the reviews and the favorites! You have no idea how much that makes me want to continue instead of burning everything. This chapter came out sideways and it still wants for some plot but NEVER FEAR! My brain's been connecting and rewiring plot ideas like a fiend, and after the next chapter, stuff should come faster.

Maybe.

**0o0o0o0**

They head to the kitchen. It's quite out of the way in reaching the control room from the infirmary, but neither mind the walk. The Doctor is still concerned, especially because of the strangely empty feeling that haunts the Master. It's a far cry from his usual overpowering presence, and he has an urge to question it, but he knows better.

"Do you have meat?" The Master asks, when they reach the room, and something pangs deep in the Doctor's hearts, because the look in his eye is purely animal.

"Few steaks in the Webber." He answers, nodding towards it.

It's a fantastic thing: keeps meat perfectly cooked and accessible at any time. The science behind it is amazing in itself, but the Doctor always remembers the story of the man who created it. It's a short one: soon after he invented it, jealous competitors trapped him inside an industrial-sized one and the universe learned the best temperature for cooking human flesh. The words to explain all this bubble up in his throat, but he's sure the Master already knows, and as friendly conversation it seems at this point to be fairly inappropriate.

"Oooo..." The Master says, after throwing open the door. His bones streak visible through his skin twice in succession. Ever so slightly he bends upon himself, but when the Doctor automatically moves in to support him, he warns him off with a look in his eye. "Too bad you're fond of your human pets." He says, looking off at nothing before turning back to survey his choices. "They don't fill me up- nothing does- but they are so... _satisfying_."

The sound of his voice is soft and wanting, and it makes the Doctor sick. He doesn't move; he can't move.

"What went wrong?" He asks, as the Master selects a prime cut of beef and hardly waits to sit before he eats, ignoring the Doctor. The Doctor thinks absently he shouldn't be staring, but it's hard to look away, because the irony is choking. The starch-clean, straight-backed, manipulative Master, the man who used to wear gloves because the outside world is filthy: devouring meat like any of the peoples he used to disdain.

"What went wrong?" The Master laughs, eventually pausing a quarter of the way through to pierce the Doctor with dark eyes. "What went wrong was my _faithful companion_." He growls. Curiosity lends the Doctor movement, and he carefully sits across from the Master.

"Lucy?"

"Mmmm..."The Master agrees darkly, and swallows. "It's always the women, isn't it?" The Doctor doesn't say anything, but waits. "She found someone to make a counter-agent to the instructions I left. I'm sure you saw the results."

"Instructions?" The Doctor asks, ignoring the jibe. He is forced to wait for an answer as the food disappears rapidly. His eyes follow his fellow Time Lord as he finishes and then retrieves another piece, this one significantly bloodier. With a challenging look, the Master licks a bit of the juice off his finger.

"You think I'd operate without a backup plan?" He shoots back, methodically tearing off pieces of flesh with mathematical precision. Perhaps not mad, the Doctor thinks, but still a perfectionist.

"I did wonder." The Doctor admits, looking away.

"I seem to recall," The Master says, almost idly, "you were quite _upset_ after I got shot." His voice remains perfectly pitched, polite, even. "But even though you wondered-"

"You refused to regenerate!" The Doctor replies, grinding out the words softly as he feels his blood start to pound. He's right, of course. Always right, even if he is mad, because he is: deranged, raving, and-

"You really are a sniveling and pathetic thing, aren't you?" The Master shoots back, and what remains of his ravaged meal is abruptly forgotten. "So like those humans you've always toted around. You think I would die after those fools brought me back?"

The Doctor still desists in eye contact, but he swallows painfully when he hears the Master get up, the chair crashing loudly to the TARDIS floor. He quivers as the Master leans close to whisper in his ear.

"I said I would rather die than be stuck here with you."

The breath seems to have deserted the Doctor's lungs. He inhales quickly. It hurts, like inhaling poison.

"_And you believed me_."

They stay there for a moment, the Master by the Doctor's side, hand on the back of his chair and breathing softly into his ear. The TARDIS hums in the background.

"What if I asked you for help?" The Master asks, idly. The Doctor looks at him quickly, searching. But the Master's brown eyes betray nothing, exactly like the disturbingly empty feeling still radiating from his mind. Gingerly, the Doctor stands, and the Master takes his arm from the chair to stand up straight.

In these bodies, the Doctor is the taller one, and they don't line up perfectly, but he gently takes hold of the Master's skull with his hands. They close their eyes together, and the Doctor initiates the contact, pressing his forehead against the Master's, which is too warm and slightly clammy. Respectfully, he brushes against the exterior of the Master's mind, and is granted entrance.

It's quiet. The ear-shattering driving rhythm that repelled him hours ago has stopped, and the result is unnatural calm. The Doctor tries going in further, past all the strangely quiet _white_, to find something, _anything_. In response, deep within, the Master shudders inside his skull, and makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

The Doctor stops immediately, unnerved by the uncharacteristic silence as well as the sliver of fear that has slipped through. The Master is extremely resilient, and an utter genius, but he has lived his entire life with that that torturous beat in his head, thought himself half-insane, and now it is gone.

Like it never was.

"Don't-" The Master rasps hoarsely, and vaguely the Doctor is aware he's moving. "I almost heard something-" With a simple touch, a reciprocal hand-hold, something dark flares among all the white. Reflexively, they both cling tighter.

This time the Master pushes out while the Doctor pushes in. The process is a horror in itself: the white is not merely an absence; it _is_. A heavy opaque covering that sits in the Master's mind like a weight. It is death. And it doesn't fight back, it doesn't resist, puts up no struggle, it just sits and waits.

The Master catches this thought from the Doctor and shudders. He begins to pull back his fingers, but the Doctor grits his teeth, tightens his grip on the Master's skull and bludgeons the white barrier with his mind. It has all the finesse of rewiring a computer with a sledge hammer, but it _works_. The white begins to crack under the blows.

One.

Two.

Three.

The last hit shatters the obstruction completely, and leaves behind it the orderly structure of the Master's thoughts. The Doctor feels his knees begin to buckle, and the Master try to catch him but fail, and they hit the ground in a heap.

"Percussive therapy." The Doctor tells the ceiling, and half-laughing. Both of them gasp for breath. The Master smacks the Doctor on the chest, and then leaves his hand there, curling into a feeble fist.

"You idiot," He admonishes, but the Doctor feels the relief wash off of him. "You could have caused permanent damage and fried neurons."

"Oh, that's never been proven. Besides, you have plenty to spare."

"Plenty more than you, at least, Doctor. I think surrounding yourself with animals has made you stupid."

The Doctor doesn't rise to that provocation, but closes his eyes, letting a stupid grin cover his face. The Master lets out a slow sigh, and sits up, making a derisive sound when he catches sight of the Doctor's face. It turns to a sharp breath though, and the Doctor's eyes snap open to watch his body continue to eat at his energy. It lasts longer than usual, and the Doctor has to support him while concern starts to kill his newly-won victory.

"How long do you have?" He asks, quietly, once it stops. The Master's eyes harden.

"Days."

**0o0o0o0**

Mmmmm… I honestly don't know if I should make this mxd, or just keep the show's bantering relationship. What do you guys feel?


	4. Interruption

All right. Here's the verdict- friendship only. Why? Well, partly because I don't want to drive anyone away, and partly because trying to write a love story between the most complicated hero and villain I know with no experience is just dumb. Sorry for you shippers, but you wouldn't want me to ruin the pairing anyway, I promise.

Anywho, I got excited writing and here's the next chapter.

**0o0o0o**

They end up in the control room, the Doctor babbling rapidly, set on automatic, and the Master following his motions with a stony face and sharp eyes.

"-a woman in that galaxy, bit creepy, actually, but knows her stuff. Brought the TARDIS round through her ceiling once, that was an accident, and after she yawed my ear off for a while, we started talking, grand lady, she was, and-"

The Doctor is about to start his ritual dance around the console when a muffled booming echoes throughout the TARDIS. Both of them flinch, and they exchange gazes.

"What is it?" The Master demands, as the Doctor immediately dashes for the monitor, skimming the flashing display. The words roll by in Gallifreyan, and panic rises in his throat.

"Someone's trying to call us." He answers curtly, furrowing his brow, and flipping a few nearby levers. The TARDIS engines start their scraping ring, and the booming echoes again. The Master walks towards him, leaning in on the other side of the monitor to see for himself.

"And making a bloody mess of it too," The Master adds, and when the Doctor reaches over his arm to hit something, he bats away the hand and slaps it himself.

"Yes, but more importantly," The Doctor says, pausing to look at the Master, "how do they know how to contact the TARDIS?"

The Master opens his mouth to answer, but abruptly, both of them wince, because whatever it is that calls them finally forms a link, and it _screams_. It's a high, thin, wail, screaming in every open psychic frequency at full volume until, after 3.532 seconds, it cuts off.

"_That_," The Master hisses, "was a _Time Lord_."

The Doctor grips the console tightly, and not just because their trip through the Vortex is becoming uncomfortably bumpy. He swallows, and fixes the Master with his eyes.

"What if-"

"There's no way they could have escaped the Time Lock." The Master answers firmly.

"That's what I told Davros." The Doctor says tightly.

"Leave it." The Master orders, and if the Doctor hadn't known him for most of his lives, he would have thought him unaffected.

"I can't."

"Oh, yes you can, you see, you have me. Isn't that what you wanted? Another Time Lord?"

The words hit him in exactly all the wrong spots in the right way, and he inhales in another one of those shaky breaths that are becoming too common.

"Master, I can't leave them." The Doctor insists, though the words hurt him too. "I just can't."

"No you're too good for that." The Master snaps, and looks back at the screen. "Always playing the hero and you always wonder why they leave you."

The Doctor swallows painfully, grits his teeth, and darts around the console around the Master, who refuses to move. The TARDIS engines sing.

"Doctor." The Master says when the TARDIS settles on solid ground. The Doctor feels his hearts lurch at his tone, which is flat and sharp.

"Yeah?" He answers, standing stiffly between the console and the doors.

"Why?" The Master asks, brow furrowed. The Doctor just stares at him until the Master waves a hand expansively. "Why _this_?"

"I don't-"

"No!" The Master cuts him off, leaning forwards and jabbing in the air with a finger. "No, just listen! _Listen_." The Doctor shuts his mouth abruptly.

"This _thing_ you do," The Master continues, bringing his finger back to his lips in contemplation. "This heroic, _noble_ dash around the universe, saving pet bunnies and pretty women, why?" He pauses, but it's a theatrical pause, and when the Doctor waits for him to start again, he isn't disappointed. "You think if you throw yourself in front of enough trains, dodge enough bullets the universe will forgive you?" The Doctor swallows.

"No."

"_No?_" The Master echoes immediately.

"I-" The Doctor begins, and then drops his eyes for second before looking back up. "I'm not looking for forgiveness. I can't be... forgiven for what I did, I just-"

"Just what?" The Master asks, and the Doctor can't decide if the soft curiosity in his eyes is disturbing or relieving.

"I just want to live." The Doctor answers, and it isn't quite the phrase he's searching for, but it will do. He lets out a deep breath and smiles crookedly at his friend. "Just want to live." And that's the simple of it, the scramble to survive, always running and fixing and laughing and crying with the universe. His chest swells gently with the wonder of just thinking about it.

"_Nothing_ you do suggests to me that you want a long life." The Master says, the light in his eyes changing. The Doctor laughs shortly.

"Well, you can't live without friends." The Doctor answers, automatically slipping into a half-lecturing tone, and he grins. "And friends often seem to get into trouble."

"Yeah." The Master snorts, and one corner of his mouth turns up slowly. The Doctor raises his eyebrows and presses his lips together.

"C'mon then," He says, lightly.

"An opportunity to go save the universe with the great _Doctor_," The Master declares, in a mocking tone. He half-closes his eyes and tips back his head, lifting his hands in a mimic of prayer. "Who could refuse?"

"Stop it." The Doctor orders, half-seriously. They start to leave, and the Doctor feels his spirits lift, because even if the Master isn't the sweetest soul in the universe, he's a great companion.

Providing he isn't bent on controlling something, that is, so the Doctor decides to enjoy the short time while it lasts.

"Do you always have to have that stupid grin on your face?"

"That's good, coming from you, Mister Manic Master."

"Ouch, Doctor, that's not very _nice_."

"I've been told that befo- do you have any idea where we're going?"

"That's your job, not mine."

"Oh, well we'll figure it...oh dear."

"Earth again? My, my, Doctor, you never seem to be anywhere else."

"Earth's a good place!"

"Someone else certainly agrees with you."

It is indeed, Earth. It's summer now, for which the Doctor is somewhat glad- winter means Christmas, and Christmas has always been a harrowing experience. The TARDIS has landed them smartly in an alleyway, and the Doctor leads the way, and then stops in the middle of his stride.

"Almost forgot." He tells the Master cheerily, then pulls a small device from his pocket and locks the TARDIS. It beeps twice in response. It still tickles him to hear it, and he beams at the Master, who has a slightly disgusted look on his face. The Doctor finds this slightly unfair. "Oh come _on_, surely _somebody_ can appreciate that?"

"So sorry to disappoint." The Master answers, looking supremely un-sorry. He then inhales deeply, and the Doctor remembers again why they're here. Still-

He breathes in as well, then stops with a sharp cough, and wrinkles his nose in the Master's direction. The Master sneers back, and then brings a fisted hand to his mouth.

"There's nothing here." He says, looking somewhat unnerved.

"The TARDIS followed the signal's origin." The Doctor replies, testily.

"And, yet, like I said," The Master shoots back, gesturing to the alleyway with open arms, "there's nothing here."

SMASH!

Both of them flinch at the sound of shattering glass a few stories above their heads. Something small hits the ground with a thunk. After that, there's silence, except for a few passerbys on the street who give a quick glance and carry on. The Master slowly bends down to pick up the object while the Doctor watches the window from where it came. There is no movement.

"Interesting." The Master murmurs, with a small laugh. The Doctor looks down at him, confusion written on his own face.

"What is it?" He asks,. The Master shows him the object with an expression of almost glee.

"Isn't that nice?" He crows, showing a few too many teeth. The Doctor stands still, weariness sinking into his skin. He'd thought it was over. Absently he reads the cover of the book, to keep from staring at the picture.

_Fighting the Future, by Joshua Naismith_

The Doctor remembers one of the Laws he was taught as a child. It's one of the ones he prefers not to think about, but this time it's a slap in the face.

_**There is no such thing as a coincidence.**_

**0o0o0o**

And here I was thinking I was going to start making chapters longer, and then it just seemed proper to end it there. Cut to the commercials. Reviewing makes me write faster!


	5. Spark

Sorry for the delay. I was Busy. With a capital b. But I hath returned-th!

If he was a better man, the Master is sure he would have felt a little empathy for the heart-rending expression on the Doctor's face. But he isn't. So he doesn't.

Really, though, it's all written there, in plain Gallifreyan circles, sweeps, and the dark red slashes of the fresh glass cuts. The irony of the book name, the memory of the Naismith mansion, and the stone-in-the stomach drop in relation to anything that might mean _they_ were back. For his own part, the Master knows his face is just as telling, though far less complicated.

Burning, all-consuming, blood-thirsty anger, after all, is not an emotion reserved exclusively for the highest echelon of being in the universe. That did not, of course, mean the sharpest member of that echelon couldn't take best marks for joyfully exploiting it.

As expected, the Doctor sees all this, and tucks his chin down slightly, jaw tight as he looks down at the Master.

"It might not." The Doctor says, in a cracked tone. The Master doesn't say anything. He drops the book without a second glance, gets up, advancing with the half-halting jerkiness of keyed-up exhaustion. The Doctor doesn't budge or flinch when the Master stops a few inches away. Carefully, the Master slips an ashy hand inside the Doctor's suit and into his breast pocket. The gun slides out smoothly, and the Master takes a step back.

When he looks, the expression on the Doctor's face has not changed. The alley and the apartment with the broken window are silent, even as the sounds from the street continue blissfully unaware. The Master eyes the fire escape, sets his jaw at an angle, and then looks back at the Doctor again.

"Coming?"

This provokes a reaction. Something breaks loose in all the carefully-contained front rubbish, and the Master feels a bit of glee in witnessing the first reactions of rage. The Doctor is still tight-lipped and silent, but he strides ahead of the Master and starts scaling the fire escape towards the right apartment. The Master attacks the stairs directly after, despite the energy loss leeching at his muscles.

He hopes with dark fervor that there will be someone to face. He hopes that book was a challenge, another opportunity to win back his lost score, another chance to _win_. He is so _hungry_.

Time begins to speed up exponentially from its former sluggish swirl to a torrential blur. For the briefest of moments the Master freezes in his ascent:

ONEtwoTHREEfour

ONEtwoTHREEfour

ONEtwoTHREEfour

As he stares up at the Doctor climbing though, he focuses on the window, and grips the gun tighter. It's only the increased thundering of his own hearts, driven on by adrenaline and his steadily approaching death. He's felt that feeling before once, but never so soon after the stuttering use of a singular heart. It's hardly a full day since he's been resurrected, sickened almost to death, and then received a full blast of radiation, and the result is a case of the most persistent jitters.

The Doctor reaches the correct apartment, flashes the sonic screwdriver at the door, and slips inside, leaving the door ajar. The Master follows with less grace and more force, mourning the lost ability to tear off the door. He's forced to stop suddenly though, faced with the stiff wall of the Doctor's back. Roughly, he pushes by, and his nostrils flare in irritation.

The apartment is distinctly uninteresting. Not only is it empty, but it oozes human. There's the faint scent of woman's perfume, recycled air-conditioned breezes, and the unique scent of the alien humans who resided there. Not a whiff of Time Lord, and completely deserted. The Master grits his teeth and then whips the gun into the opposite wall. It hits the wall with a thunk, leaves behind a large depression, and sinks to the carpet.

"Something's not right," The Doctor murmurs. The Master snorts. Of course it isn't right. The pieces don't add up: the psychic scream, the book through the window, and now the deserted apartment. Fragmented pieces. "Why _that_ book?" The Doctor continues, and the brief rage is buried under the curiosity almost immediately.

"Perhaps it was terrible." The Master bites back, eyes flitting around the room for signs of life. Nothing. The Doctor moves past him into a short hallway, and the Master moves into the kitchen area. Except for the growl of a cheap air-conditioner, and the sound of his boots on the out-dated tile, it is quiet. He performs another quick sweep with his eyes, and then stops on the ajar door, affording a view to the apartment across the hall, number 403.

The grin starts on its own, baring his teeth at the elusive enemy, and crinkling the skin around his eyes in a less than friendly expression. So it will be a hunt, will it? Much the better.

Abruptly, the power shuts off. It's still the middle of the day, so none of the lights are on anyway, but the air conditioner wheezes to a halt, and the lights on the microwave disappear. The Doctor's head pops around the corner.

"Coincidence?" He asks, with only a slightly jovial streak in his voice.

"Someone was in a hurry," The Master replies, and shoots him a more amused version of his wicked grin. The Doctor's eyebrows shoot up.

"Well, then we'd better follow, hadn't we?" He says, eyes already looking past the doorway.

"Thought you'd never ask," The Master agrees, and in a sudden spurt of energy, he laughs, drums a quick four-beat rhythm on the counter with the flat of his hands, twirls, and then sprints through the door, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip in sudden concentration. The lighter slap of the Doctor's shoes behind him only drives him on, though by the time he reaches a stairwell, using the steps has devolved to a controlled slide, and only a healthy stroke of luck prevents both him and the Doctor from unintentionally slide-tackling a heavy-set woman on the last set of stairs.

Eventually, the Master reaches a door that says 'BASEMENT'. The Doctor fumbles in his pocket for his screwdriver, but the Master turns the doorknob and walks down. The temperature noticeably drops, and without light from any windows, it's pitch black. There's a low hum.

"Hello?" The Doctor projects, and the Master whirls on him with a half-snarl before he can stop himself.

"_Everywhere_." A voice hisses from a near corner, and the two Time Lords automatically turn and face it. It's also the heart of the humming noise, and when the Master reflexively inhales, there's a faint smell of burning flesh.

"Who are you?" The Doctor asks, and even in the dim light from the stairwell, the Master sees the stiff-backed weariness to his form. In response, the humming increases sharply, and the power drain causes the electricity system to groan. The Master moves forward through the darkness, until the crackle of power raises the hair on his hands.

"What are you?" He asks, eyes automatically searching, even in the absence of light.

"Hungry," The voice replies, inches from his right shoulder. It sounds human. The burnt skin even smells human, and the Master represses a joyous shudder. "Very hungry."

"We won't hurt you," The Doctor reassures it, and in a few steps, he reaches the Master's side. "Tell us what you are, that's all we want."

"You can't make me stay." The voice replies immediately, and feathering at the sides of its tone is what the Master recognizes easily as fear.

"We won't make you stay," The Doctor soothes, though the Master bristles at the use of the word 'we'.

"Never trust a Time Lord!" It replies, and the tone is unmistakably hostile. "Especially one that makes promises."

"Well, it's smarter than most," The Master quips, letting sarcasm drip down the edge of his words. The Doctor doesn't respond to it, but reaches inside a coat pocket and after a moment of rummaging, withdraws a flashlight. He holds it out and flicks on the light. The Master withdraws from his uncomfortably close position and eyes the alien.

It's humanoid, probably a parasitic alien attached in a human body, as their is no evidence of any other disguise. This does not explain, however, the catch of the Doctor's regular breathing, or the sharp drop in his mental presence. The Master looks at him sideways, and evaluates the shock. It is not, he decides, on the level it was when he heard the drums, but it is not quite mild.

"Do you two know each other?" He asks. The alien, which holds a few smoking wires in a slightly burnt hand, backs away slightly. It is obviously bent on draining power, though not with any style, the Master thinks disapprovingly.

"Yes." They answer in tandem, and then look at each other with confusion.

"You can't possibly know me," The alien hisses first.

"And I haven't met you," The Doctor agrees, brow furrowing, "At least, not yet."

"This sounds terribly complicated," The Master says idly. The Doctor's grip on the light wavers slightly, and something catches the Master's eye. The Doctor ostensibly doesn't catch it, and the light returns to focus on its original target, but when the Master looks at the alien, he makes eye contact and it certainly knows.

"How do you know me?" The alien asks, keeping its gaze locked on the Master. There is a long stretching pause. The Master lets his eyebrows shoot up quickly, and then lets his face fall into a grin when there is no facial response.

"A friend of mine-" The Doctor begins, and the Master rolls his eyes theatrically in anticipation of another sob story. The alien's face remains passive. "-she...your wife..." His voice trails off, and a spasm of emotion finally crosses the alien's face. The Master's spasms too, but more in the area of disgust.

"Really, Doctor, I thought you were too noble for that sort of thing." He says, looking back at the taller Time Lord, who is still unnaturally still and grave. Despicable. This human fascination was entirely out of hand.

"Noble." The alien says faintly, and automatically looks down and to the right, towards the area the light had illuminated briefly. The Master resists the grin on his face, but it settles in his eyes. It flits away, though, when the Doctor speaks.

"Donna Noble."

"Fucking 'ell." The alien breathes, and then curses a few times more. The Master instantly dislikes the change in its posture, and lifts his chin.

"Donna?" He demands, gaze switching to the Doctor. "Your little freak?"

"_You_ did that to her?" The alien instantly turns on the Doctor, and drops the wires, which spark briefly on the floor. The Master looks between the two of them, eyes switching rapidly, waiting for more information to puzzle out.

"No!" The Doctor responds immediately, and then he pauses. "It was an accident."

"Did _what_?" The Master presses, and he is momentarily made the focus.

"She's-" The alien starts, and the stops with obvious effort, roughly running his fingers down the palm of the burnt hand in anxiety, and the Master notes the burns slowly dissolve away.

"Where is she?" The Doctor asks, and the stiffness has devolved into sharp angles and uncertainty.

"She woke me," The alien replies.

"Did _what_?" The Master asks again.

"Woke you?"

"Well, it wasn't that easy."

"Woke you how?"

The alien shut its mouth abruptly, and shook its head.

"Just tell me!" The Doctor burst out, before grabbing at his hair with his free hand. "I promise, I really do, I'm not going to hurt you." The alien shifts on his feet a little, and looks at the Master, who smiles slowly.

"But I might," He says, and holds his hands out in the human gesture of peace.

"Stop it, " The Doctor commands, and it is a quiet rebuke, but the Master will not have it.

"Oh, lighten up," The Master says, "he quite clearly doesn't want to hear lies. In fact-" His narrative is cut short when the pit inside of him bleeds out again, and his bones gleam through his skin. He manages to stay standing throughout the burst, and warns off the Doctor with a glare.

"Ha!" The alien laughs, and there is a bitter smile on its face. It inhales, makes a face, and steps back a half step. "Something certainly went wrong with you."

"That's something everyone likes to tell me," The Master replies, and approaches a few steps. His prey watches him.

"Master," The Doctor warns, and when he doesn't stop moving, the Doctor takes his arm. His body provides its own rejection though, and when it starts to latch onto the Doctor, he instinctively lets go. The Master grins, though it is superfluous with his bones showing through his face, and feels his time thinning and slipping away to the crackling tune of hunger. They all wait until feeling and its attack fade.

"You're dying," The alien says, and there is a look on its human face. Not sympathy, but understanding. Then it mirrors his smile.

"Not very becoming, is it?" The Master snarls, and the alien's smile disappears.

"I won't let you die," The Doctor says quietly, but the Master punctuates his sentence with a sharp singular laugh.

"No? How very touching, if very un-reassuring," The Master challenges, annoyed by the tragic touch in his rival's eyes. And for a man who called himself doctor, the irony simply spiraled forth.

"I could fix him."

As one, the Master and the Doctor turn to look at the alien, the intruder filled with fear. It turns to the Doctor.

"Both of them."

The Master narrows his eyes, and the Doctor's widen.

"Donna?" He asks.

"She didn't look very _fixed_." The Master says, raising an eyebrow at the alien. The Doctor immediately whirls on the Master.

"What do you mean didn-"

"After all this time, you're still bone-dead stupid," The Master mocks. "A ginger, isn't she? And lying on the floor next to him."

"_What_?"

"Shaun Temple," The alien says absently, and then tenses again. The Doctor shines the light to the side again, and his face dissolves into what is his latest regeneration's rendition of 'Everything's gone to hell' expression. The Master watches with interest as the prone form of Donna Noble stirs, and she lifts a hand over her eyes.

"Oi, turn that bloody thing off!"

And to the Master's great confusion, the Doctor turns off the light, drops it on the floor with an audible clang, and bolts up the stairs without so much as a goodbye.

"What the hell?" Donna says. The Master stands in the dark for a moment while the alien- Temple, whatever- reassures her in soft tones, and then turns and runs after the other Time Lord, bellowing his name.

"Doctor!"

Oh the problems I had with this chapter. I hate it and I want to spend lots of time cutting it up and taping it back together but I can't figure out what I don't like about it, and I think I need to get it off my chest. Some crit would be absolutely fantasmic, if you would. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to fight the Plot Monster, just as soon as I pack up with potions, phoenix downs, and rest at the nearest inn.


	6. Instruction

I felt quite entitled to having a break while I was busy. And then I hypocritically left a review encouraging Omniac to write more while I lazed about.

Sorry!

Yes, this is short, and filler-ish. I'm still not done fussing with plot and I thought I'd let you all know I haven't abandoned this. Plot, ugh.

0o0o0o

Sometimes the Doctor wishes he could forget fear. It freezes him at the most inopportune times, always has, in every regeneration. Like now, when he should be leaving, protecting Donna and trying to figure out _what the hell_ is going on, and instead he is clutching the wall at the top of the stair, chest heaving and hearts hammering against his ribs. Abruptly the Master is beside him, smelling like death and decay, with his ravenous resurrection crackling on the top of his skin.

"She's _it_, isn't she?" He hisses, pressing his face too close. "That scream." The Doctor swallows the fear of being _so close_, and lets the back of his head rest against the wall.

"Yes."

"Oho!" The Master laughs, "The only two left?"

"She's not-" The Doctor begins, and then straightens up and runs a hand through his hair. "What did he mean _fix_?"

"Don't change the subject."

The Doctor meets his gaze, and the two of them are quiet for a moment, processing at speeds exponentially greater than the average sentient being.

"She's not Time Lord." The Doctor says tiredly. "She's still human, she's just got..." He trails off, and then after a few blank misses, brings his hands around his head and continues, "she's got my head too, sealed away, but if she remembers me-"

"Boom," The Master says quietly, with a slow smile. "You've got quite a talent for that sort of thing you know, your little collection of freaks. How do you do it?"

"She's not a freak," The Doctor says quietly, staring down the stairwell, which is both dark and silent. While he looks, he brings up his right hand and wiggles it. "Remember my hand?" He slides his gaze over to the Master, who looks confused.

"I don't like where this is going, Doctor." He says, donning an offended expression.

"Well, long story short," The Doctor continues, after a brief chastising look, "Biological metacrisis."

"_Meta_crisis?" The Master asks. "Who were you trying to impress?"

"I'm not-" The Doctor starts, and then flinches when there's a step on the stair. "I've got to go."

"Then go." The Master offers, and when he smiles, lightning sparks across his teeth.

"I can't leave you!" The Doctor says quickly, desperately glancing between the figure on the stair and the Master.

"I'm _dying_," The Master reminds him. "You're not helping."

"Master!" The Doctor hisses.

"The _basement_!" Donna complains to her husband from the bottom of the stairs. "What the hell was I doing in the bloody _basement_?"

Without warning, when the Master turns his head at the sound of his former companion's voice, the Doctor snatches the Master's forearm and bolts for the nearest door. Abruptly the Master throws his weight backward, but the Doctor is already in motion, and there is something horrifyingly weak in the resistance that the Master offers.

The Doctor pulls him easily enough out the door, and then stops after rounding a corner, freezing again. The Master tears his arm free, but does nothing except lean a little heavily against the wall and catches his breath.

"Doctor!" A voice calls, and the Doctor whirls to greet it.

"Jack?" He questions, and the Master lets out a barking laugh.

"Another one of your precious freaks," The Master mutters, as the immortal approaches. The Doctor considers reproaching the Master, but decides against it as Jack's expression looks urgent.

"Doctor, what are yo- what is he doing here?" Jack asks, voice immediately switching from confused to guarded. The Master chuckles without even an attempt at civility, and straightens up from the wall.

"Did you change, I wonder?" The Master says, with a rhetorical air. Then he lifts his eyebrows and grins at his most malicious, "It certainly would have been an improvement."

"Yeah, I'll bet," Jack answers, and pulls out his gun.

"Nooo, no no no!" The Doctor inserts hastily, and throws up his hands. "Tell me why you're here."

Jack hesitates, and the Doctor sees him weighing the options in his mind, before he lowers the gun and lifts his chin.

"Well, believe it or not I was on vacation,"

The Master inhales to say something, but the Doctor elbows him in the side and nods at Jack to continue. Jack's eyes flick from the Master the Doctor and back again.

"...and then I got a call that one of our targets showed up on the energy search. We've been trying to get this one for a while, but it's pretty crafty."

This time the Master says something before the Doctor can stop him.

"What, you actually found something _smarter_ than your little team? What was it, a bird?"

"No," Jack says, dismissing the Master with a sharp glance and meeting the Doctor's eyes. "A shape shifter."

"Shape shifter," The Doctor murmurs, and there's a brief moment when things start to all but audibly click together. "Oh, _yes_."

"Doctor." Jack says, prompting an explanation.

"What?" The Master adds, flatly, in what is probably the closest agreement he has ever had with the immortal. The Doctor just grins.

"That's brilliant, it really is, and I didn't realize it!" He begins, and can't resist a little laugh. "No, it is! He could fix her!" He pauses, lifts his eyebrows at the Master and leans in. "He _could_ fix _you_."

"Not to rain on your party, Doctor," The Master answers testily, "but I think I warrant a little more skill than a simple shape shifter."

"I might actually agree with him on that," Jack adds, not bothering to mask his dislike.

"Well, you'd both be right on that," The Doctor concedes, "_if_ it was your normal everyday run-of-the-mill shape shifter. Tell me, Jack, why are you hunting this one, hm? Shape shifters aren't usually a problem, a slight nuisance, yes, but nothing worth getting this excited about."

"It came through the Rift," Jack said, "and it started eating our power, including from the rift and the surrounding area until we figured out how to stop it. Then it ran away and we chased it until it stopped appearing on our scans."

"Oho," The Master says, and even the Doctor looks at him with question in his eyes. "Well, maybe you were right, Doctor."

"Right about what?" Jack asks, turning suspicious.

"It's a Star Eater," The Doctor says.

"Oookay, so what does that mean?"

"We need your help," The Doctor says, and immediately Jack's face is torn with conflict.

"No," He says finally, with a pointed look at the Master. "Whatever you're doing to save him, I won't do it."

"Y'know, I don't think he likes me," The Master comments idly, smirking at Jack.

"It could fix Donna," The Doctor says, for a moment ignoring the Master. Jack's face softens.

"Wilf told me what happened," Jack says tonelessly.

"I couldn't help her," The Doctor continues. "I had to leave her."

"A Star Eater, huh?" Jack asks, "Sounds like fun."

"He's married," The Doctor says, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah?" Jack says, "What's your plan then, Doc?"

0o0o0o0

I often wish Jack didn't hate the Master, because I think they could have an opportunity to have a relationship sort of like the Doctor has with the Master. I won't scar you with the details of that. Oh, my twisted brain. So I'd like to hear where you think the plot is going. The closest one gets bragging rights or something. ;D


	7. Plan

"Are your plans always this terrible?" The Master asks the Doctor scornfully.

"Well I usually just sort of make it up as I go along," The Doctor defends, offended.

"Yes," The Master says, with a condescending smile, "I know,"

They're interrupted by a thumping down the hallway, as Jack runs around the corner and stops, jacket fluttering around him. The Master grits his teeth at the _wrongness_ the immortal exudes, and beats his hunger down a little more. He's not in the habit of being nice, but sometimes it pays to be patient.

"Ready?" Jack asks, with a cocky grin.

"Yes," The Doctor answers, and then as Jack turns, "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Who me?" Jack asks, and then sweeps away.

The Master waits a while, leaning against the wall while the Doctor sits and broods like a mother hen. Then, just when Jack should be knocking on the door, he speaks.

"You did consider that that thing could eat him," He says, conversationally. The Doctor looks at him with a serious expression, and tilts his chin down, which means he's thought of it.

"Jack can take care of himself." The Doctor says tersely.

"Touching." The Master replies. "Well, it'd be no great loss, anyway."

"He _is_ helping you," The Doctor murmurs, focusing on the corner on which he is hoping Jack will bring their target. Most of the concentration, the Master thinks, is very forced.

"No, I don't _think_ so," The Master snaps back, "He's helping your other little freak friend, and anything he does that may help me is just unfortunate."

There's a pause while the Doctor gives him a sidelong look.

"Well," He begins, drawing out the word, "you never exactly adhered to the whole 'it's the thought that counts', did you?" The Master smiles wryly.

"Hmph, not at all," He answers. The Doctor raises his eyebrows and continues his vigil. The Master inhales deeply as he feels Jack come closer.

Now that he is done running around and using up his remaining energy, he can feel time settling down into his veins. He's felt it before: at the end of his normal set of regenerations, when he'd become desperate. Instead of just being within his notice, time has _joined_ him, drawn up close in his veins, and he can _feel_ it, beside the immortal. Not the fixed point in time, not at all, but a thing beside it of potential. Scorching, flowing and ebbing potential.

He closes his eyes and shudders.

"What is it?" The Doctor asks, just as Jack turns the corner. The Master opens his eyes and turns his head just in time to meet the eyes of the thing masquerading as Shaun Temple.

"What do you want?" Temple asks, in what the Master deems and utterly _human_ tone. Jack's attention flits fitfully between the Doctor, the Master, and Temple. The Master smiles slowly and is rewarded with a look of contempt.

"You're a Star Eater," The Doctor says, and Temple tenses.

"Leave me alone," He pleads. The Doctor searches his face for a moment, and then glances at the Master, who brings his chin down and keeps his face expressionless.

"You said you could help Donna," The Doctor starts, and then nods at the Master, "and him."

"I need power," Temple says, swallowing, "especially for him." The Master chuckles.

"Well," He interjects softly, "I've never been afraid of a little power."

"How long will it take?" The Doctor asks.

"Give me a sun," Temple replies, and eyes Jack sideways. "I'm starving."

"Easy, boy," Jack says, after noticing the glance. "You're not getting any of this."

"How unusual," The Master remarks, but Jack ignores him. He considers that, partaking of immortal flesh. The energy surging underneath Jack's skin, at least, is appetizing, even if the broken edges of time around him would spoil the meal.

"I can do that," The Doctor says slowly, "but Donna can't see me. She can't see where she's going. She has to sleep." The Master finds it interesting that immediately Temple's body posture goes from passive to defensive.

"I'll take care of her," Temple says.

"Alright," The Doctor agrees, looking surprised at so easy an admission. "Meet us outside the building." Temple nods, and with an uneasy glance around at the company, leaves.

"That's it?" Jack asks, after watching him go.

"You don't always have to fight to get what you want." The Doctor admonishes, with so much childish assurance, that it makes the Master queasy. Jack makes a dubious noise.

"Not everyone has your charm, Doc," Jack answers.

"No, that would be disastrous, " The Master agrees, and then smiles politely. "Are you staying, Captain? I was looking for a good snack." Jack looks straight at the Doctor.

"If you want my advice," The American says, "push him into the vortex." The Master is pleased to see a mulish expression slide into place on the Doctor's face.

"You'd better go," The Doctor tells Jack.

"Oh believe me," Jack replies, with a nasty streak in his tone, "I'll be glad to leave where I'm not wanted. Just get that _thing_ off this planet."

"I will," The Doctor promises. Jack looks at the Master.

"And your Star Eater," Jack adds, and strides away without goodbye. The Master struggles off his wall and studies the Doctor.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're rude?" The Master asks. The Doctor is silent for a while, watching Jack leave. There is something like regret in his brown eyes, and the Master resists the urge to say something crude.

"All the time," The Doctor answers, and motions for the Master to go first. The Master waits a moment, watching the Doctor serenely as energy slips around his failing grasp and forces him to his knees. The Doctor is immediately beside him out of concern, but the Master simply gets up as soon as he is able, deliberately shrugging off the Doctor.

His life is ticking away at its last moments, and the Master can feel it as sharply and clearly as he heard the drums. It is, of course, not nearly as overwhelming, but it does not fade. Days, he told the Doctor, but that was just clinging to survive- he would probably start to lose physical functions in about twelve hours, and slip into a coma another twenty-four after that. Already his hearts were skipping beats and almost all of his vital organs were performing sluggishly at best. The part of him that usually contained regeneration energy was leeching energy from his working body instead of maintaining it.

Still, he'd done worse.

"I wonder why it hid," He says, conversationally, once they're out of doors again, standing not far from the TARDIS. "It could have easily wiped these idiots off the planet."

"Perhaps it didn't want to _kill_," The Doctor says, in a disgustingly moralistic tone. Even his posture is condescending, looking down his sharp nose at the Master, who sneers.

"What, _you're_ taking the moral high ground, even after all that?" The Master prods. He ignores the flash of hurt in the Doctor's gaze and continues. "No, it was hiding, from something." He looks pointedly at the Doctor. "Someone."

"Scared enough to take the chance traveling through the Rift," The Doctor muses, catching the Master's drift. "I wonder what he meant by 'never trust a Time Lord'..."

"Ha!" The Master says sharply, "Name a Time Lord you _could_ trust."

"Hm," The Doctor concedes, with a nod, "Good point."

Their conversation ends as they hear the door slide open and Temple appears, holding an unconscious Donna in his arms.

"Ah, there you are," The Doctor says cheerfully, dropping his seriousness instantaneously. "Come on, this is my ship, here," He takes a quick overview of Donna, and then nods back to where the TARDIS stands in the alley. Temple hesitates, which the Master catches because he is watching, and the Doctor does not, because he has already turned his back. The Master considers actively stirring up trouble, but changes his mind, both because he is relying on the Star Eater to heal him before then and because breathing is starting to become more of a conscious effort.

"This is it?" Temple asks, tightening his grip on Donna.

"Oh, she's better than she looks!" The Doctor replies, trying to create trust with his smile, which makes the Master feel a bit sorry for him. The Doctor opens the door and gestures Temple in, who enters hesitantly. The Master follows soon after, but not before he's exchanged a look with the Doctor.

As soon as he is inside, he slips out of the way of Temple, who slams the door shut before the Doctor can come in. The Master, who reacted solely on instinct and reaction, furrows his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?" He has time to ask, before Temple turns and looks at him.

"You can fly this TARDIS?" Temple asks, voice devoid of emotion. All of his body language from before: the hesitation, the fear, and anger, has vanished. The Master rubs his fingers together, lets the energy crackle and spit, and momentarily considers violence. He drops it when he realizes he has tremors in his fingers.

"What do you want?" He asks, even as the Doctor starts banging on the door. In a few seconds, he'll find his key anyway, but the Master is intrigued.

"Take me to a star," Temple says, and then cocks his head to the left. The emotion flickers back onto his face, but only for a moment, and the Master narrows his eyes, trying to puzzle the shapeshifter out. "I will heal you, and I will heal Donna, and then we will talk."

"Good," The Master says, with a slow grin spreading on his face. He reaches over to the door and activates the deadlock. There is a small scraping noise as the Doctor tries his key.

"MASTER!" The Doctor yells, "Master, LET ME IN!"

"Doctor!" The Master replies, not taking his eyes off the Star Eater. The banging on the door stops. "Be sure to make your pets ready for my return."

"Master!" The Doctor pleads, "Don't do this!"

The Master ignores him, steps over Donna's prone form, and surveys the controls with an eagerness he doesn't bother to hide. So, the Star Eater is ready for a meal? He runs his hands over the controls, and feels his own eyes light up. Oh, but he's missed having a TARDIS.

"How about," The Master says, mostly to himself, "something in the Allison galaxy?" Temple watches him with dark, expressionless eyes. The Master licks his bottom lip, grins as he waggles his eyebrows at the shapeshifter, and then throws a lever. He doesn't handle the rattling trip as well as he likes, and the mental connection with the TARDIS is full of disapproving admonishments, but he feels more alive anyway.

His plans, after all, are always better than the Doctor's.

**o0o0o0o0o**

It just seems like when the Doctor makes stuff up, you can tell it's slapdash. The Master always makes it seem like he has a contingency plan for everything, and isn't it convenient that these things happen?

Well, anyway, we're moving right along.


End file.
